


All Questions Put To Rest

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their office was the best kind of office. Then a guy walked past the open door and the bottom dropped out of Stiles’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Questions Put To Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ordinaryink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinaryink/gifts).



> So there was this doc in my WIPs folder named Ordinaryink. I had no memory of starting it or even why it's called that. But I guess this must be for that amazingly talented artist and all around wonderful person <3
> 
> My logic - Derek headed off to college and Beacon Hills is not that small. The Hales are still werewolves though. Title is from a song on the Nashville soundtrack. I have no shame about how often I listened to it while writing this.

Their office was the best kind of office. If there can be such a thing as best kind. It wasn’t like it was an amusement park or, like, the beach or anything. Stiles worked in IT which meant he got to run around all over the place and slyly switch pieces of equipment off and on again and occasionally kidnap someone’s machine and wreak havoc on their entire working day. He drank too many energy drinks and used the network after hours to shoot aliens and zombies on the big screen that should be used for presentations.

Scott tended to join him. Stiles wasn’t sure exactly what Scott does (and he’s not one hundred percent that Scott does either) but he wasn’t complaining when his best friend started working in the same building. And they both had their feet up on opposite desks late one Thursday evening when the shit hit the fan.

A guy walked past the open door and the bottom dropped out of Stiles’s life.

 

U NEED TO SHUT UR MOUTH. The post-it was in Scott’s all caps scrawl and was a pretty pastel blue. Stiles wondered who had done the last stationery order because he had his suspicions that it probably wasn’t Scott. On the other hand, he couldn’t really argue with Scott’s message. Stiles knew he had an issue where his brain just went off line and his mouth hung open. It only happened around people he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, so luckily he didn’t do it that often. He’d done it a whole lot around Lydia until she’d finally made Jackson buy her an enormous sparkly emerald and diamond ring (diamonds alone weren’t enough these days). 

He was probably doing it a whole lot as the guy – Mr. Hale – wandered around the office and loomed in corners observing departments. The rumor mill was in overdrive – he was everything from a CIA spy to a television producer. The truth ended up being more prosaic. Mr. Hale’s family had bought the company in some kind of merger deal and their son, Derek, was going to be the new managing director. Stiles wavered between calling him Derek and Mr. Hale in his jerk off fantasies for a while. There was something kind of nice about the, um, power imbalance inherent in calling him Mr. Hale. Stiles accepted his kinks wholeheartedly.

And that was why Stiles stuttered when they were introduced, properly, and why Stiles had been left a very pointed post-it, gumming up the middle of his screen.

Mr. Hale was basically walking sex. Stiles would feel vaguely guilty about the whole objectification thing if he was a nicer person but he was pretty damn comfortable with who he was, especially after the whole bi thing, and if his brain wanted to ogle (or, you know, his other brain), his conscience wasn’t going to bother him. Mr. Hale wore suits that hugged his ass, made his waist narrow and his shoulders broad and made Stiles want to ride him like Seabiscuit. Or however that saying went.

Mr. Hale just scowled harder at him when their paths crossed.

 

There was another post-it on his computer when he came back from the afternoon department meeting. Stiles hadn’t even been supposed to be there but his boss had sent him in after some kind of crisis at her daycare. Stiles had been doing fine, casual, nodding. And then Derek had called the meeting to offer and boom, brain offline.

YOU SHOULD DATE RATHER THAN CRUSH. This note wasn’t in Scott’s scrawl. It was in Lydia’s neat cursive. Stiles banged his head down on the desk. He was still there when he felt fingers pressing another post-it into the back of his head. He fished for it without lifting his head before he propped himself up long enough to read it. I DON’T THINK HE NOTICED THOUGH. That one was in Scott’s scrawl. Stiles just let out another groan.

 

Rubbing one out in the company bathroom was probably not the best idea but there had been something of a shift in the whole Mr. Hale situation. Which was to say that Stiles had found a fluorescent pink post-it in handwriting he didn’t recognize on his desk saying GYM. NOW. YOU CAN THANK ME LATER. Stiles had idly thought he needed to get friends who communicated through normal means – email, or text, or even conversation – rather than through little brightly colored notes on his desk. Then he realized what the note said and trotted back to the elevators and hit the button for the 23rd floor. He had ducked around the door without even really looking at who exactly was in the room.

And it turned out that Derek Hale worked out at the office gym. In a grey tank that did everything to show off his perfectly sculpted pecs and his fucking amazing arms and just. Stiles’s brain went offline again. 

“What do you want?” Mr. Hale didn’t even look away from the tablet he had propped up on the running machine. His legs never lost rhythm as he pounded along steadily to the beat of the music coming from the speakers. He was wearing sweat pants, which Stiles was currently torn between thanking, because seeing more skin might make him spontaneously combust, and cursing, because Derek’s legs must be magnificent. And nibble-able.

“What?” Stiles answered on auto-pilot.

“Do you want something, Stiles?” There was perhaps a hint of humor in the otherwise flat and disinterested tone. Stiles had to parse each word separately and ended up shaking his head rather too frantically. He also had to remind himself to breathe, gulping in a massive mouthful of air and then choking on it. Derek’s feet faltered at that but Stiles waved in his general direction.

“I’m fine. Just going-“ Stiles pointed in the direction of the bathroom and took off at a fast pace. He locked himself in a stall and leaned back against the door. His dick was throbbing, urgently, and nothing he could think of was making it go down. Mainly because every thought he attempted to bring up was slammed aside by the vivid image of Derek working out. At least he’d only been running. Imagine if he’d been lifting weights, muscles flexing and loosening, strong enough to hold Stiles up while he pounded into him, keeping rhythm like his feet on the treadmill.

Stiles let his head bang up against the door. Then he unfastened his belt and got his pants around his thighs before he was even really aware of what he was doing. His hand stripped his cock fast and hard, right on the edge of too rough and too dry. This wasn’t going to take long. Or, at least, it wouldn’t have when the door to the bathroom banged open and Mr. Hale’s voice floated over the stall door.

“Stilinksi? Stiles? You…okay?” It was as if Derek had been about to ask something else. Stiles’s hand tightened on his dick painfully. He couldn’t keep stroking, not while Derek was standing just the other side of the thin piece of plywood that was acting as a barrier between them. At least there was no way Derek could see what he was doing here. An idle thought – what if Mr Hale did know? What if Stiles invited him to join in, all sweat slicked and hot and kinda dirty.

“I’m fine. Just- Having a moment.” Stiles prayed desperately that his voice sounded steady and low. Derek let out a cough, awkwardly. His voice was probably as wrecked as he felt.

“I’ll just…leave you to it.” The door banged again and Stiles stroked himself, twisting his thumb along his slit. It took all of three strokes for him to come, hard, and he caught as much of the mess as he could in his open palm.

Derek Hale and those fucking post-its were going to be the death of him. His heartbeat was never going to return to normal. Never.

 

Stiles wondered why he didn’t get new friends sometimes, then he remembered how ordinary souls couldn’t really cope with his awesome. But it turned out that being the focus of a conspiracy called “Get Stiles Laid” (they could have at least come up with a cool Operation… style name, but no) was less than fun.

“I don’t need your help, guys.” Stiles sunk his head onto the sticky table. There had been a lot of drinks with dubious names and whose fruity nature probably hid a great deal of alcohol. His head was swimming a little bit too much. “I do all right.”

“When was the last time you hooked up, even?” Isaac was giving Scott the sad eyes which meant he was feeling the whole unrequited love thing again. Isaac went through phases when he was between boyfriends and girlfriends of imagining that he and Scott were totally in love. It was cute. Mostly. Except when Isaac was being evil.

“A while. But it’s not like I’m a man-whore or anything.” Stiles took a long suck from the straw sticking out of the green drink in front of him. Banana flavored. He was not expecting that. Huh. 

“Not appropriate language, Stilinski.” Lydia hit him with a cocktail umbrella. “You’re just a whore. Or not, in this case. Not with your propensity to have huge crushes.”

“You’ll always be my first true love, though, Lyds. Right?” The banana drink seemed to have magically vanished.

“Absolutely, sweetie.” Lydia had already moved back into Jackson’s arms and was rapidly heading into his lap.

That was when he glanced across the bar to see none other than Derek Hale staring at his table. Derek’s eyes jerked away as Stiles stared, open-mouthed. “Fuck.”

“Yes. That’s what you should do.” Scott waved his beer. “Fuck someone and get over Derek Hale.”

“Derek’s here. By the bar. And he’s… He’s not in a suit. He’s got-“ Stiles let his eyes slide sideways to trail up Derek’s tight jeans, painted on black t-shirt. His fucking leather jacket. He’d also let his stubble grow out. Stiles wondered which version of Mr. Hale he preferred – suited and booted? Work out gear? This dressed down version? It was like Derek had different Barbie outfits. But at the base of it all, he was still Derek Hale and totally out of Stiles’s league. “I need another drink.”

Stiles still jerked off in his bed when he got home, all alone, to the memory of the brief press of fingers against his as he’d passed Derek on the way to the bathroom.

 

ASK HIM OUT, DUMBASS in Isaac’s handwriting, on an orange square. YOU SHOULD MAKE THE FIRST MOVE on basic yellow from Scott. JUMP HIS BONES, STILES from Lydia. DON’T GET SUED FOR WORKPLACE HARRASSMENT on a slimy green in a handwriting Stiles didn’t recognize.

“Stop leaving me post-its! Don’t you have work to do?” Stiles yelled at the mostly empty office. The printer whirred. 

“That’s what I was going to ask.” Stiles spun around at the sound of Derek’s voice. Sure enough Derek had witnessed his freak out. Stiles sat on the edge of his desk, hopefully hiding all the incriminating notes.

“Mr. Hale. Hi. Hey. So. Yes. Can I do you? For anything? Work-related?” Stiles closed his eyes and hoped his humiliated flush wasn’t as bright as he suspected it was.

“There seems to be an issue with my tablet connecting to the network. Can you fix it?” Derek held out a slim black case. “You should come to my office and show me what I need to do.”

Stiles stood up and followed Derek out already thinking through the possible problems. “It’s probably just a permissions thing?”

Derek nodded. “And that means?”

Stiles looked at him, caught by the intensity of his eyes for a moment before he took in the rest of Derek’s shame-faced expression. “You don’t know about computers, do you?” It was a sort of mixture of dawning horror and sudden pride that Stiles could contribute, could be useful. He turned into Derek’s office, waving at Boyd, Derek’s exec assistant. Boyd nodded at him before returned to the pile of files on his own desk.

Derek’s hand brushed against Stiles’s ass. Stiles felt his heartbeat stutter. Okay, he could deal with this. Derek was obviously making excuses to get him alone and… Well, there was a couch in here but the desk looked nice and sturdy and its dark brown stain would set off Stiles’s milky pale gamer’s skin to perfection. A post-it appeared over his shoulder clutched between Derek’s fingers. Scott’s. Luckily not too revealing. Then Stiles realized he’d walked through the entire office with that stuck to him. To his ass.

“Ah. I can explain.” Stiles snatched the post-it and scrunched it up in his suddenly sweating palms.

“It’s fine.” Derek sounded a little quieter now. “Can you just…?” He held out the tablet in mute appeal. Stiles couldn’t suppress the shiver he felt as Derek’s hands touched his as he took it, flicking it open. Obviously the whole oh-god-it-feels-amazing-when-I-touch-you feeling wasn’t just a one-time, hey, we’re outside of work and I’m very drunk thing. Stiles tapped away for a couple of minutes, trying to ignore the awkward silence. He handed it back, wondering if he should explain what he’d done. Derek wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the desk and then on the tablet.

“It should work fine now.” Stiles swallowed. “And I’m sorry-“

“What for?” Derek brushed his fingertips over the black leather case.

Stiles wondered if he should just flee but he summoned up his courage. “If you were made uncomfortable or anything. By the post-its. Or me. I’m-“

“No need, Stiles.” Derek finally looked at him. He was…thoughtful. Not pissed, thank whatever deity. “You could help me out, though.”

“Yeah?” Stiles was already nodding. “Anything, dude.” Then he mentally slapped himself for calling Mr. Hale ‘dude’. What was he thinking?

“I need someone to pretend to be a date. Someone who knows it’s not a serious thing. Someone who’d be able to put my family off the scent.” Derek seemed to be saying the last to himself.

That was- Okay. That was going to be hell. But when Stiles opened his mouth to laugh and tell Derek he was such a good practical joker, he caught sight of the uncertainty in the way Derek was holding his mouth. “If you need, sure. But you’re like, you.” Stiles waved his hands up and down in such a way to indicate the whole package that was Derek Hale, successful businessman and complete hotass. “You shouldn’t be hurting for dates.”

Derek shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “Saturday. You’ll need to wear- Actually.” Derek cut himself off and pressed the intercom button on his desk. “Boyd? Could you ask Erica to step in here?”

“Erica? Evil Erica?” Stiles felt the panic building up again. Everyone knew you didn’t mess with Erica Reyes. Stiles could feel his balls trying to crawl up into his belly already. “Did she really kick Greenberg in the…?” 

“Nope. It was just the shin. And it was self-defense.” Derek sat behind his desk and opened a few drawers. Stiles continued to stand in the middle of the floor and wring his hands. “And she’s going to take you shopping.”

“I have Lydia for that. Lydia Martin. Accounting.” Stiles stuttered out the words before realizing that might not be the best idea. Derek steepled his fingers, looking like some ridiculous cheesy villain. Then Stiles’s brain caught up with his words some more. Erica and Lydia meeting would either create an explosion rivaling the Hindenburg or else the world would quake in fear. Possibly both.

“I know Lydia,” Derek said, finally, before pressing his intercom button and asking Boyd to send up Lydia too.

 

Stiles was not sure how he felt about the whole suit deal. He was really not sure about it. Especially not the way it kinda hugged his ass. Which was not a bad ass as asses went, not really. It didn’t sag for all that it was lily pale except where it sported moles. Stiles had not spent a whole lot of time really thinking this much about his ass in years. But there was something about the embarrassing and fitted new underwear that Erica had insisted on before Lydia had thrust these pants at him. He’d come out only to be whisked into a coat and spun around in front of a mirror. Rather forcefully. Erica really had some grip on her.

“Shoes,” Lydia muttered.

“Shirt. White. Red tie? Blue? Purple?” Erica was eyeing him in a way that made him rather uncomfortable. And the whole folded arms/cleavage enhancing stance thing made Stiles swallow. Boobs still scared him a little.

“Red,” Lydia said, while Erica let out a short bark of laughter. They shuffled him back into the changing room with the curtain Stiles was convinced didn’t close all the way. “Just be glad we didn’t take you to a tailor, Stiles!” Lydia yelled as he grumbled.

Outside the room, he could hear Erica and Lydia accepting glasses from one of the subservient sales assistants. He’d been told he couldn’t have any earlier but Stiles was wondering if they’d bring him something stronger if he asked. Tequila would work. Or bleach. He wasn’t that fussy.

Finally he stepped out to hear Lydia gasp as he spun around in front of her. Perhaps she was drunk but when he met her eyes, all he could see was pride and approval. “You look great, Stiles.”

“He doesn’t scrub up too badly.” Erica was also impressed, Stiles could tell. She was just hiding it beneath her prickly demeanor. “Now, jeans.”

“What? No. Derek just said- What?” Lydia raised her eyebrow at the whole Derek thing before taking a perfectly poised sip of champagne.

Erica laughed, low, filthy and evil. “His family thing is a weekend deal. You need jeans, shirts, shoes, the whole ensemble.” Stiles felt the panic overwhelm him. His heart was definitely racing towards attack territory. He should totally have given up on those curly fries when he made his dad stop eating them. And Lydia just brushed her hands over her skirt and tilted her head when Erica beckoned to the sales assistant with a red talon topped finger. “We’re going to need the casual wear section next.”

Stiles wondered if they’d catch him if he made a run for it.

 

GO YOU! said the post-it in Allison’s curly script. The dot on the exclamation mark was a smiley face. DON’T FORGET THE NEW COLOGNE was in someone new’s handwriting. Stiles glared at it for a long moment before realizing that it must be from Erica. Scott flew past his desk late in the afternoon and flashed him the thumbs up before running into the meeting he was late for.

Stiles pretended to be resectoring hard drives as he hid behind his precious machines as much as possible. They didn’t taunt him for being an utter loser who could only get a date with the man of his (quite literal) dreams by pretending to be his boyfriend. And then to put the cherry on the top of the cake, there was that entirely emasculating shopping experience. Stiles was not one of the types of gay men who enjoyed shopping unless it was for comic books or games or something. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It just wasn’t him.

And he was going to wear these too tight, too fitted clothes and pretend not to be him for two whole days from what Erica was saying.

 

Derek had coffee in the car when Stiles stumbled into the passenger seat at the crack of dawn. Stiles worshipped its steamy goodness for what was probably an indecent amount of time before he tuned into his surroundings. They were outside the city by now, heading up into the hills surrounding it. Stiles hadn’t seen this much greenery since he left his small town home. He should maybe try to get to the park more often. Or something.

“So, where are we going?” Stiles fiddled with the empty cup. He had to speak because the silence in the car was certainly getting too much.

“My family owns some land, has a house, upstate. Should take us a few hours though.” Derek steered the car with one hand, leaning his elbow on the door. He rested the other on his knee. It wasn’t like he needed two hands on the wheel what with the road essentially being a straight line into the distance. 

“I come from upstate.” Stiles searched in his pockets, twisting in the seat. He thought he had some gum and the coffee was rapidly going stale in his mouth. Derek flicked down the console and pointed at the tub of mints.

“I know. I read your file.” Derek pushed his mirrored shades further up his nose before resettling his hand on his leg.

Stiles chewed his mint for a while. “That’s kinda creepy, dude.”

“Kinda my job. And don’t call me dude.” Derek’s eyebrows did a dance above his shades and Stiles realized he was staring at Derek and that was _definitely_ creepy. Silence fell again. Stiles wondered if he should try and sleep but he was properly awake now. Derek let out a heavy breath in such a way that it could be interpreted as a sigh. “You can put the radio on, if you want.”

Stiles looked at the eerily old-fashioned radio and wondered if buttons would fall off if he touched it. It was possibly heading towards an antique. It didn’t have a jack for his iPod, that was for sure. “It’s okay. I should find out about your family. I mean, what should I expect? What shouldn’t I do?”

Derek shifted so his hands were holding tight on the steering wheel. “Just be yourself.”

“That is shit advice. That is the worst advice in the history of advice.” Stiles regarded the radio again. “Why do you need me again? Why not bring Erica or someone?”

“They wouldn’t… My family knows her.” Stiles swore the leather on the steering wheel squeaked under Derek’s palms. “They… If I don’t bring someone, they try to set me up. Or something.”

Sympathy twisted in Stiles’s belly. Derek had sounded so bleak when he mentioned it. “Don’t worry, dude.”

“Don’t call me-“

“Not going to happen. Want to play I Spy?”

“No.” 

At least Derek sounded angry rather than empty. That was an improvement.

 

The house wasn’t grand. It looked like a pretty ordinary house, just bigger. Stiles also thought it looked pretty familiar. “So, we’re not far from Beacon Hills?”

“Stiles, we’re in Beacon Hills.” Derek spoke so quietly that Stiles had to lean close to hear him.

“I come from-“

“I know.” Derek bit out the words, before pasting a smile on his face. It was so fake, all teeth and no emotion that Stiles worried for a moment that he’d done something wrong. He automatically checked his (new, Erica and Lydia approved, t-shirt) but he hadn’t spilled anything down it. When he looked back up, he could see a woman waving from the porch. She was smiling a whole lot more genuinely. Derek waved back before turning to look at Stiles. “We could probably go see your dad.”

“Dude, you’re back to creepy. But, yeah, that’d be nice.” Derek nodded before coming to stand beside Stiles again. Stiles leaned his shoulder against Derek’s, mellowing at the prospect of seeing his dad soon. It had been too long. They skyped now and again, but it wasn’t the same.

The woman on the porch wasn’t coming closer so Derek started walking towards her. She wasn’t old enough to be Derek’s mom so that made her his sister, probably. Stiles popped the trunk and grabbed his bag and Derek’s and the two suit carriers. He felt a little bit like a pack mule and he was a little perplexed about how he was going to shut the trunk without dropping anything on the ground. Luckily someone took care of it for him and also relieved him of the bags. Stiles made a grab for them when he realized that the someone was an older woman with Derek’s eyes. He closed his own eyes for a moment. What a first impression to be leaving.

“You must be Stiles,” she said. She also smiled closer to real than Derek.

“Yo-yeah.” Stiles didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. But instead of scowling at him like Derek was prone to, she just smiled a little bit deeper.

“Well, aren’t you adorable?” She looked like she was moments away from patting him on the cheek or something when Derek showed up and relieved her of the bags, kissing her on the cheek before staring at Stiles. Awkward silence was then the order of business again. Derek was trying to tell him something with his eyebrows and Stiles was still struggling to read the smoke signals beyond “angry”, “food”, “you’re a fucking idiot” and “Timmy’s in the well” or something. His mom took pity on them. “Derek, you’re in your old room.”

Derek’s mouth twitched again and he jerked his head before heading to the house.

“Where am I, Mrs. Hale?” Stiles rocked on his heels, trying to work out what to do.

She looked at him sort of askance, sideways. “Why, you’re with Derek, sweetie?”

From the porch, Derek was glaring at him. Stiles watched as he jerked his head again. Ah. So that was what that was – come here, Stiles, and follow me to your certain doom. Stiles swallowed, hefted the suit carriers higher on his shoulder and marched to his execution.

There was no way his wayward dick was going to control itself if he had to share a bed with Derek. No hope, whatsoever.

 

Derek’s room lay halfway along a well-lit, white washed hallway. It was pleasant and light. Stiles didn’t know exactly what he’d been expecting. Something out of Beetlejuice perhaps, all high concept artwork and tortured furniture. But it was just as it looked on the outside – a pretty ordinary family home. Derek pushed the door open and went through without looking back to check if Stiles was following.

“Your mom seems nice,” Stiles remarked. “Welcoming.” Derek didn’t reply, but threw their bags on the bed. Stiles stood in the doorway with their suit carriers starting to dig into his palm. Derek took them, oddly gentle, and hung them from the wardrobe. His shoulders were tight, tense and bunched and he took a deep breath, trying to relax.

“It’s-“ Then he shook his head. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Just for sexual favors. That’s the only reason.” Stiles was – mainly – joking.

Derek looked startled before he smiled, a tiny but genuine grin. It was the first time Stiles had seen anything like that on his face and he smiled back like a complete dork. They were still caught in the weird smile loop when the door banged open, making Stiles jump. It was obviously time for him to meet the rest of Derek’s family.

 

Stiles shrugged his way into the suit jacket, checking the hang in the mirror as Lydia had patiently instructed him. It looked good, magically making his shoulders look broad and his waist narrow. It was much more trendy – and expensive – than basically anything else in his wardrobe. He should probably not think about the oh-my-god-what cost or he’d basically have to stand like a mannequin all night long. His tie was straight with no awkward twisting or labels showing. He’d shaved. He’d applied four coats of deodorant. He was as ready as he was likely to be.

Then Derek stepped out of the en-suite. Now, Stiles had spent a lot of time imagining what Derek looked like under his clothes. He’d put in the man hours, he’d filled in the blanks himself, adding a little bit of artistic license or so he’d thought. But he had not been doing Derek justice, not in the slightest.

Derek was wearing a towel low around his hips and Stiles had to clench his fists at his side to not just reach out and grab at the flimsy, evil scrap of material. Derek should never be made to wear clothes. He belonged in some kind of museum, on display or something. He was like one of those classical sculptures. He was better, actually. His muscles shifted as he walked, as he breathed. And then Stiles had a moment of wanting, hard and fierce. He liked Derek – he was crushing hard. This went beyond that to something raw and hard.

“You fucking tease,” Stiles ground out, his eyes still fixed on where the cut of Derek’s groin slid beneath that evil white material. “This is just evil. I mean, I knew you were evil. This is just ridiculous. We have to go to eat with your family and you’re all...”

Derek quirked his eyebrow at Stiles before he looked down as if he wasn’t expecting to see his own naked chest there. 

“Are you allergic to shirts or something?” Stiles spun around when Derek reached for the crumple of black material on the bed that was – yup – boxer briefs. He wasn’t quite strong enough to not look into the mirror and caught a glimpse of strong thighs as Derek pulled up the underwear. He then fixed his eyes on Derek’s face. Derek hadn’t shaved. Or, more precisely, Derek had trimmed his stubble into something designer and sculpted and it just made Stiles wonder what it would feel like, brushing against his neck, his chest. His balls. He had to talk very strongly to that part of his anatomy just to get himself into a position where he could turn around again.

He thrust his hand into his pocket only to come out with two pieces of paper. The purple one was from Lydia. DON’T PUT YOUR HANDS IN YOUR POCKETS. The other was from Erica. DON’T FUCK THIS UP OR ELSE. Stiles didn’t really want to find out what Erica’s idea of “or else” was. 

A light touch at the back of his neck and he spun around to see Derek standing all too close to him. He could feel the heat radiating off his body, for crying out loud. But it was Derek’s eyes that caught his attention. All through their acquaintance, Stiles hadn’t been close enough to really examine Derek’s eyes. They were like every romance cliché put together – mirrors, pools, orbs, whatever. They were hard to look away from.

Stiles smoothed his palm over Derek’s tie, making it lie smoothly against his chest. The tie was a light blue silk, soft under Stiles’s hand. He focused on it to avoid picturing what lay underneath. “You look alright, I guess.”

“You too.” Derek was serious, his voice soft and intent. His mouth lifted in an approximation of that soft smile from before. Then he dropped a kiss onto Stiles’s surprised mouth. It was nothing more than a brief brush of lips but it drove all the air from Stiles’s lungs, made his heart thunder in his ears. There wasn’t even anyone around to see them acting.

So this was a fresh hell.

 

Derek’s family and Derek’s family’s family filled the big open room and the marquee outside in the garden. Derek introduced him around, to a mind-destroying flurry of people who Stiles just smiled and nodded at. He was entirely too focused on the whole hand on the small of his back thing that Derek had going on. Especially when said hand dipped under Stiles’s jacket to lie warm against the thin material of his shirt. Finally there was some kind of signal and everyone moved to sit down at the long tables covered with snowy white linen.

It was kinda like a wedding, Stiles thought. Not like _his_ wedding. He wanted something small and intimate. Maybe the beach. Just his dad, Scott, close friends. This was actually a bit overwhelming and the idea of being center of attention would make it even worse. Lydia would probably have something like this when she finally deigned to set a date with Jackson. Scott would too. Although there might be less of the whole white linen thing. Scott would like the fairy lights anyway. Stiles should take pictures for him.

He was wondering what kind of flowers were in the tasteful displays when Derek’s hand on his shoulder startled him again. He already knew Derek possessed the ability to sneak up on people when they least expected it in the office. He was not expecting that ability to carry over to here as well. But he turned to look at Derek, not flinching away when Derek’s arm stretched long the back of his chair. 

“So this is pretty.” Stiles flailed out his hand, narrowly missing the wine glass that sparkled on the table.

“My mom likes to go all out.” Stiles looked over to catch Derek’s mom looking at them and smiling. He smiled back automatically before turning back to Derek who wore a sad expression on his face now.

“You okay?” That was surely within the bounds of the role he was playing and yet appropriate to the whole Derek was actually his boss thing too. Instead of replying, Derek leaned in close to him and just pressed himself against Stiles. They sat together like that all through the speeches and Derek only moved far enough away to let Stiles eat without fouling his elbows. Derek left his thigh snugged up against Stiles’s though, warm and hard. Stiles wished he had enough guts to rest his hand on it, just for a little while. It was nice to pretend like this.

He tamped down the whole it’d be even better if it was real line of thought the minute it started.

 

There was even a fucking post-it stuck to his toothbrush, when Stiles finally unearthed his shaving kit from where Lydia had packed it, not trusting him to fold his new clothes properly or something. Stiles had attempted to point out his many years of coping on his own before she’d over-ridden all objections.

Maybe Stiles should just burn all the post-its in existence. That might be a plan. 

MINTY BREATH IS ATTRACTIVE IN A MAN. Stiles crumpled up the note and stared at himself in the mirror. He’d made it through dinner and post-dinner conversations and everything. He’d basically avoided having to be all perfect complement to Derek by letting the kids drag him over to their corner and being a model for artwork, a climbing frame, a pillow and a strange Stilinski version of Google for the group. He checked in on Derek every so often of course. In fact, Stiles had found it almost impossible not to be sure where Derek was at any given moment. It was half self-preservation. He wasn’t entirely sure that Derek wasn’t going to run off into the forest and leave him with his family to be eaten or something. But something else meant he couldn’t stop thinking about Derek.

Stiles closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cool mirror over the sink. Stiles Stilinski was an honest guy – at least to himself. It was time he owned up to the truth. He was basically deluding himself by calling whatever he was feeling for Derek a crush. It had definitely gone beyond that. Stiles just had to face facts: he was falling in love with Derek Hale. 

 

Lying in bed beside Derek in the darkness was torture. Delicious torture. It was as if the air was saturated with his smell, his warmth. Every breath Stiles drew in seemed to contain Derek’s essence, like he was poisoning himself with him. Or possibly getting drunk. Stiles wanted to roll over, plaster himself against Derek. Kiss him stupid. The whole idea was so terrifyingly tempting that Stiles clutched the blankets on his side of the bed and feared sleeping, just in case he decided to hump Derek while unconscious.

Derek didn’t seem to be having the same sleeping problems Stiles had. He rolled over and Stiles froze as a hand made its way up to hold on to his elbow. It wasn’t even like that was one of Stiles’s erogenous zones. Maybe it was going to be now, as Derek held him firm.

 

Stiles must have fallen asleep because he woke when Derek moved. It wasn’t like Derek was awake or anything. He’d just rolled over in his sleep. Because Derek would never _ever_ rub up against Stiles like this if he was conscious. It started with something that could only be called a nuzzle at his neck then there was a slow unhurried roll of the hips. Stiles froze as he felt Derek’s half hard cock rub against him. That seemed to wake up Derek.

“Sorry.” The word was muttered, half aware, into the space behind his ear. “I know you don’t-“ Derek cut off at that.

Stiles lay still, trying to get back to sleep. It didn’t help that he knew Derek wasn’t asleep either. Stiles now knew the difference between genuine sleep and the tense approximation of it Derek was faking with.

“I don’t what?” Stiles asked, almost to himself. He thought Derek hadn’t heard him but after a few moments Derek let out a long sigh.

“You don’t want me like that.” The words were soft and tinged with an immense amount of bitterness. “You’re happy to pretend.”

Stiles rolled the words over in his head. “Okay.”

Derek let out a soft unhappy sound before rolling over and punching his pillow, laying his head down. Stiles let him lie there for a moment before he realized what it had sounded like.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant-“ Stiles couldn’t do this in the dark. For all that he found Derek unreasonably unreadable at the best of times, he wanted to see him while he basically laid himself bare. He sat up, reaching out to grope for the lamp on the night stand. It took a couple of tries and Derek ended up holding him in bed while Stiles regained his balance. Stiles smiled down at the sleep rumpled figure for a moment before remembering what he was about to do. “Don’t fire me.”

“What?” Derek sat up too, scrubbing a hand across his hair, forcing it into even more ridiculous spikes.

“I like my job. I mean. I’m good at it. I like my colleagues. We’ve gelled. Even Erica. Sort of. Though she’s still scary.” Stiles knew he was desperately playing for time.

“You should be scared of Erica. You _should_ be scared of me.” Derek watched him closely, eyes narrowed.

Stiles had to shrug at that. “Your mom was going to get out baby pictures. You’ll never be scary after that.”

“After some of them? I still might be.” Derek’s mouth twitched, obviously laughing at some family joke. Stiles wasn’t sure how to handle this Derek, this real Derek. Not his boss or even his pretend boyfriend. Definitely not just his fantasy figure. And he could see himself here, with Derek’s family, in Derek’s fucking bed.

Stiles took a deep breath. “What if it was real? Would… Could you be interested in that? I mean, look at me? I’m like hopeless. I can’t even dress myself apparently. And I can’t get up my courage to ask you to dinner or whatever despite the fact that all of my friends – and your friends – keep telling me to. And I kinda agreed to this because I like you. Like, more than just want to fuck like. Apparently.” He had to stop to take another breath.

Derek wasn’t saying anything. His mouth was pinched tight and Stiles didn’t know him well enough to know if it was anger or just Derek thinking things over. Space was probably the best idea.

“So there’s that. I’m just going to put out my light and maybe my eyes and pretend I didn’t say anything.” Stiles reached out for the lamp. It felt kinda reassuring that the dark would hide the blush that had to be on his cheeks because he could feel his face burning.

Derek still didn’t speak.

 

Stiles left Derek pretending to be asleep as he made his way to the kitchen, still gritty eyed after his night of less than restful sleep. Laura was leaning against the counter beside the coffee maker, but Stiles didn’t let that stop him as he made his way towards the other love of his life. She handed him a mug as he stared at the carafe, unable to quite join together all his reasoning faculties to work out how to get the black gold into his bloodstream.

“Guess my brother kept you up…” Laura trailed off, frowning. She sniffed – definitely, sniffed – and Stiles hoped he wasn’t going to catch her cold on top of everything else. “You didn’t sleep well?”

“Just a-“ He slid his eyes sideways to see her frowning at him. She looked like Derek when she did that. “Derek said something about a run? I was going to swing past to see my dad, if that was okay.”

“Derek’s the one you should be asking.” Laura pointed over his shoulder. Derek was hovering in the doorway in his work out gear, loose sweats and a tight tank top like in the gym. Of course he still looked amazing and gorgeous and pretty much everything Stiles had ever wanted since he realized Lydia was basically perfect except for her lack of dick. Stiles automatically smiled before he remembered they weren’t really back to that yet.

“You want to take the car?” Derek came closer and Stiles automatically took a step back to let him past before realizing he was probably heading towards him to give him a kiss or something and carry on the ridiculous charade of them being together. Stiles wondered how anyone had ever believed it to begin with.

Stiles just nodded as Derek pressed the keys into his palm.

 

“You didn’t know he was Derek Hale? You used to be obsessed with the guy, Stiles?” His dad was less than sympathetic when Stiles explained the whole situation. It had taken his dad two seconds and a hug to ask what was wrong. It had taken another ten minutes of careful probing to have Stiles spilling the whole story. “It was one of the reasons why the whole gay thing wasn’t really a surprise.”

“I don’t remember.” Stiles shook his head. “He isn’t that much older than me.”

“You were only a kid. It wasn’t long before your mom got sick.” There was that old remembered pain shared between them. Stiles grabbed his dad’s hand and squeezed it tight, just for a moment. “Quite a phase though.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles wasn’t sure what to say next. “You want to hear about Scott?”

 

The knock at the door surprised them both. They’d been arguing about baseball, old and familiar and like Stiles didn’t live two hundred miles away. His dad had answered, taking a little longer to get out of his chair than Stiles remembered. He busied himself with clearing up the plates but was interrupted by Derek stepping into the kitchen.

Derek looked even more out of place in the shabby old kitchen of Stiles’s old life than he did in his own family’s. He was still wearing his running gear although it was sweaty and had grass stains on it now. It didn’t make any difference to the overall attractiveness. Derek didn’t even have the grace to smell bad. Instead he smelled fresh, like the outdoors. He was also intent on Stiles, eyes boring into him.

Derek opened and closed his mouth a few times before he seemed to reach a decision about what to say. His voice was matter of fact, blunt, the words forcing themselves out in a rush. “I’m a werewolf.”

Stiles shook his head. Nope, his ears weren’t malfunctioning. Derek’s mouth had moved and those words had crossed the air between them. Stiles pinched himself. He wasn’t dreaming because – oww – that hurt. “What?”

“I’m a werewolf. All – most – of my family are.” Derek took a huge breath. “I told my last serious girlfriend. She freaked out and tried to burn my family alive. So it’s not something we really talk about much.”

Stiles crossed the floor before he even registered the fact he should move and came to stand in front of Derek, hands hovering. He really wanted to wrap Derek up in a hug. “Are you okay?”

“What?” It was Derek’s turn to look freaked out. 

“I mean. Shit. This is a lot to deal with. But it’s like-“ Stiles finally gave into the urge to touch Derek, resting his hands briefly on his shoulders before stepping back. “The sniffing! Put the family off the scent! That makes sense. Does it? Do you guys smell better than me? Do you change into an actual wolf? That’d be cool. Like all the time or only at full moon? Have you always been a mythical – guess not so mythical – creature? Is it cool? Or does it suck? Are you like Batman? Do you fight crime?” Stiles was pacing the kitchen rather wildly by the time he’d worked up to this. Then he stopped and spun around to face Derek again. Derek looked stunned. “Why are you telling me?”

“What you said. About liking. I do. A lot.” Derek shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, dragging them down a little, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin at his waist. Stiles’s flicked his eyes up to Derek’s face the minute he realized he was staring. Derek’s face was no less enticing, eyes fixed on Stiles, mouth slightly open as Derek flicked his tongue over his lips. “Do you want to go to dinner with me? Or coffee? Or…”

Stiles didn’t let him get any further. Instead he decided he’d had enough of being the pursued. It was time to seize his moment and just take what he wanted. And it apparently turned out that Derek wanted it too. Stiles kissed Derek with probably too much force but, hey, Derek was a werewolf. He could take it. And take it he did, mouth open wide, his whole body intend on pressing close to Stiles, hands wrapped securing around Stiles’s back. Stiles mimicked the position, hands rubbing across Derek’s amazing shoulders, his narrow waist, flirting with the idea of slipping under the loose sweats to grab at his ass.

A soft cough had them breaking apart. Laura and his dad were in the doorway, both of them smug and amused. Stiles was tempted to flip them the bird but manfully restrained his middle finger (and the urge to stick out his tongue). Derek didn’t let go, which was probably good because for all that Stiles’s incipient boner was rapidly shrinking, it was not really the kind of impression he wanted to make on his future sister-in-law. Who could probably smell it. Fuck.

“I was just saying I hadn’t seen Laura’s parents in a while. I’m going to go visit them. For a bit.” His dad looked at the linoleum at his feet, biting his lip in a way that suggested he was trying to keep his laughter in. “Your room is just as you left it, Stiles.”

Then he and Laura were heading out of the door, leaving Derek and Stiles alone in the house. 

“What did he mean?” Derek asked, his hands caressing Stiles’s back, his side. His ass. Yup, time to move out of the kitchen.

“What? About my room?” Stiles was already pulling Derek up the stairs. Or leading. He had the impression that he wouldn’t be able to move Derek if Derek didn’t want to be moved. “Condoms and lube, still in the top drawer. Not that they got much use.” Stiles barked out a laugh.

“I’m kinda gross,” Derek said, following Stiles into his old room. Nostalgia swept over him for a moment before a certain amount of rightness. It felt good to start something new here. Something important. 

He looked at Derek. Yeah, really important. “I’ve always wondered if the shower would fit two.”

Derek pulled off his top.

 

Monday morning came and Stiles was expecting his monitor to be covered in post-its. Especially from Scott, being as he hadn’t made it back to their apartment last night. He’d been…busy. Walking send fucking awesome reminders of what with up his spine, a pleasant, satisfied ache. But instead of the expected notes, he was faced with a barrage of questions from basically everyone who had been in on Plan Derek in one form or another.

Erica demanded to know what he’d done to Derek. “He smiled. Genuinely. It wasn’t like an ‘I’m going to enjoy tearing you a new one smile’. What did you do?”

“Derek was humming.” That was Isaac. Scott just poked at the love bite on his neck until Stiles batted his hand away. He also smiled enigmatically (smug. Cat who’d got all the cream) and swung into his chair.

There was one single solitary post-it stuck to his monitor. A plain yellow one with neat printing. DINNER AT 7? It was signed with a crude drawing of a wolf’s paw.

Stiles kept on ignoring everyone’s questions, especially after he could feel his cheeks start to hurt with the force of his smile. At least none of them were werewolves who could sniff out the fact he was basically covered completely in eau de Derek.

Or… “Why do you smell like Derek?” Scott’s nose was wrinkled in confusion. Stiles let his head fall onto the desk.


End file.
